


through the looking glass

by Mr_Phich



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Diapers, Hurt/Comfort, Littles Are Known, Loneliness, Non-Sexual Age Play, Wetting, caregiver!Sam, little!steve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:47:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27392956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Phich/pseuds/Mr_Phich
Summary: Growing up in the 1920s and 30s, being Little was a thing that got you landed in a mental hospital. But Steve wasn't Little. Sure he had some issues, but that was his health, obviously. Even after the serum -- it had to be his health. He wasn't Little.Waking up in the 21st Century is a bit of adjustment.
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson
Comments: 28
Kudos: 193





	through the looking glass

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo I wasn't going to post this until it was finished because I didn't want to have two WIPs going, but I don't know about you guys, I needed something a little Soft today, and since the next chapter of only little is neither Soft nor Ready, I thought I would share this. 
> 
> I hope it gives you a little escape and comfort today. <3

“What d’you mean, he’s Little?” Steve says, frowning at Fury. “Why isn’t he in a hospital then?”

The whole room goes quiet. If you can call it a room. What do you call enclosed spaces on machines that weigh more than Steve can comprehend floating in the sky? 

“Fuck off, Rogers,” Stark growls. “Why don’t we put you in a hospital for being so outdated you’re obsolete.” Stark spins on his heel and storms out of the room, Dr. Banner following a moment later. Steve watches him go, baffled and hurting. He is obsolete, he thinks, deep inside. And he’s got no idea what he’s doing here. He turns back to the rest of the assembled soldiers — but they’re not soldiers, are they? They’re just people. Steve doesn’t know what to make of this world where wars are fought by civilians.

“That’s really not appropriate, Rogers,” Romanoff says, voice cool. Steve has no idea what’s going on. He feels confused and overwhelmed, and embarrassingly, that makes his eyes start to burn. He’s always been prone to tears, but he’s gotten better at pushing them back. 

“What’s not appropriate?” he grits out, half disguising tears and half frustrated beyond belief. 

“Littles now are treated with a little more respect,” she snaps back. 

Steve rubs his forehead. “Littles are respected and valued members of our society now, Cap,” Agent Coulson says in his deceptively soft voice. “I know that’s a radical change from your time, and we can discuss it more at a later date, but you’re going to have to show a little more respect.”

But what is a little more respect? A little more respect than a sixteen year old being shoved into the back of an ambulance, screaming and crying for her mother? A little more respect than the seventeen year old who pissed himself at school and got beaten half to death that night? 

“Fine.” He gets up and walks out, not caring that it makes him seem like an even bigger asshole. He finds a bathroom as quickly as he can manage, relieves himself, and then finds himself gripping both sides of the sink, desperately trying not to cry. 

He doesn’t succeed. He misses Bucky. He doesn’t understand this place, or this time, and he’s scared and alone, and he just wants  _ Bucky.  _

*

“You’re all welcome at my place, of course,” Stark says over shwarma, gesturing expansively and showing a mouthful of food. “Except for you, Cap, since you think Clint, Natasha, and I belong in a hospital.”

It takes Steve’s exhausted brain several minutes to piece that together.  _ Stark and Romanoff are little?  _ He thinks disbelievingly. He can’t comprehend it. Stark’s one of the most famous and wealthiest people in the world, from what Steve understands, and Romanoff is a spy who’s as deadly as she is sharp. But, he supposes, Barton’s the same. Sure Barton seems to be a bit of a human disaster, but he’s an amazing marksman and quietly brilliant in a way that feels achingly familiar. 

Steve didn’t know Littles could be competent or productive. He didn’t even know they could be  _ sane.  _

*

So Steve’s not welcome with the team. He’s used to being on his own, it’s fine. He finds a place in Brooklyn, down in Red Hook, not far from that last place he and Bucky shared. It’s one of the only places in Brooklyn that still feels somewhat familiar. 

Being on his own is better, anyway. There’s no questions asked, no way his secrets can be revealed. 

He manages to figure enough out to get his own laptop, get the wireless internet set up, and then he finds himself what he needs. There are a lot more options than he ever could have guessed, and he gets the plainest, most discrete option there is. 

The first batch don’t work. He wets through them, every single night. The second batch are better, though not perfect. Good enough, better than the towels he and Bucky used to sew together. Better than being shaken awake in the middle of the night to piss. 

He gets himself a backpack, makes sure he’s always got a change of clothes stashed in it, and carries it everywhere. 

He doesn’t see his team except for missions. He doesn’t see much of anyone, really. 

But it’s fine. He’s fine. 

This is fine. 

*

Every morning he runs. 

And runs, and runs, and runs. 

And then he sits on a bench and stares at the sun and doesn’t cry. 

*

On Fridays, he goes to Starbucks. Any more than that feels greedy. Plus coffee makes him need to pee more. He never has Avengers meetings on Friday. 

He’s got a new book he’s enjoying. He thinks it might be a young adult book or something, but there’s no one around to judge him for it, so it doesn’t matter. He sits with his coffee and loses himself in his book. In fact, he’s enjoying himself so completely he loses track of time altogether. 

He doesn’t come back to himself until he feels a sudden, unexpected dampness in his underwear. He gasps and drops his book, quickly looking down. His pants are still dry, thank god, but he’s still dribbling. He tries to clamp down, but he can’t, so he leaves everything and runs, even though that jars his bladder and makes it come faster. By the time he gets to the bathroom, it’s too late. He stands in the middle of the bathroom as the rest rushes out of him, leaving his pants soaked and his socks and shoes squelchy and gross. 

It’s only when he realizes he left his bag behind that he starts to cry, great heaving sobs into his hands. He doesn’t know what to do, he just feels so completely overwhelmed. What is he supposed to do? He just needs someone to tell him what he’s supposed to do, to bring him his things and help him get changed, the way Bucky used to. 

Bucky always used to tell him it was okay, that it wasn’t his fault. Even after he got big, even after everything else was fixed and he was still pissing himself, still wetting the bed, Bucky said it wasn’t his fault.  _ Just how your body works, pal. Don’t worry about it.  _

There’s a knock on the door. Steve goes still. He cuts his sobs off, even as tears continue to trickle down his face. Maybe if he’s just really, really quiet the person will leave? He doesn’t think he locked the door. Why didn’t he lock the door?

“Hey,” a gentle, deep voice calls out. “I brought you your bag. I thought you might need it. I’m just going to open the door and slide it in. I won’t open the door all the way.”

Steve sniffles and turns to the door — it does open, just a little and there’s his bag. As soon as his bag is all the way in, the door closes. Steve lunges forward and locks the door. He picks up his backpack and practically hugs it to his chest. He stands there for a long minute, staring at the door with wide eyes. How did this guy know to bring him his bag? Why did he do that? It was so nice. 

He shifts a little and wrinkles his nose, abruptly reminded of his wet pants. Walking carefully, Steve takes himself over to the counter so he can put his bag down. He doesn’t look at himself in the mirror. He knows what he looks like — like — like a  _ Little.  _ With wet pants, teary eyes, and red cheeks. He looks pathetic and ridiculous. 

He quickly dashes away the second wave of tears that want to come and reaches into his bag. He finds a plastic bag, his clean pants and underwear, and dry socks. He crouches down, knees wide and picks at his laces. He knows he shouldn’t find laces tricky, but he does, sometimes. It’s just these big giant fingers, he’s never gotten used to them. Not that he was all that good with laces or buttons  _ before,  _ but whatever. Once he gets his laces undone, he takes his shoes and socks off, then pulls down his gross — _ yucky,  _ a quiet part of his brain says — pants and underwear and shoves them into his plastic bag with his socks. Standing half naked in the bathroom, Steve shuffles over to the sink and grabs some paper towels, hastily wiping himself down. If Bucky were there he’d insist on a better job, but Steve just does enough to make sure he doesn’t smell like pee. Then he quickly dresses himself again, shoving all the wet, yucky things into his bag and then crouching down again to work on his laces. But his fingers get all confused and it’s frustrating and he starts to cry again, so he stops and just tucks them into his shoes instead. It’s fine. He’ll be able to do them later. 

Steve washes his hands and face, leaving little splashes of water on his shirt and his hairline all damp and then picks up his bag and edges toward the door. 

When he opens it, there’s someone outside. He freezes, staring. The man smiles — he’s got a friendly smile, with a gap in his teeth. He’s got a beard. Steve can’t grow a beard, has never been able to. 

“Hey,” the man says. It’s the guy who brought him his bag, Steve recognizes. “You okay?”

Steve nods, not quite able to manage words, beyond a whispered, “Thanks.”

The man waves it away. “Hey, no worries. Couldn’t leave a Little guy on his own, now could I?”

Steve’s eyes go wide. This — this man thinks he’s, he’s — he’s  _ Little.  _ Why would he — did he guess that Steve peed himself? Is that why, Steve knows that Littles do that. But some regular grown ups do too, he knows they do. 

“M’not Little,” Steve says, frowning. “I just — I just needed my bag.” Never mind that he’s now wearing khakis when he was wearing jeans.

The guy frowns, looking confused. His eyes dart down to Steve’s untied shoes. Steve shuffles his feet. 

“Oh, sorry, man, my mistake. Shouldn’t have assumed. I’m Sam, by the way.” He reaches out to shake Steve’s hand, so Steve reaches out too. 

“I’m Steve.” He doesn’t hardly get recognized, these days, not out of costume. They kept his face secret all these years, and Steve makes sure to wear his mask on missions. He’s seen how people swarm Stark out of the tower. He doesn’t want that. 

“Nice to meet you, Steve. You need some help with those?” he gestures down at Steve’s laces. 

Steve can feel his cheeks and ears heating. “I can do it.”

“I’m sure you can,” Sam says calmly. “Do you want some help anyway?”

Steve doesn’t answer, not sure what to say. He doesn’t like to wear his shoes untied, but he doesn’t want Sam to think he can’t manage it. He’s a grown up, he can do it on his own. Sam seems to take his silence as an answer and bends down, and quickly ties his laces. Steve blushes deeper. His shoes smell, he knows. Like pee right now, but like old pee too, because it doesn’t matter how he cleans them, they always stink a little. And the laces must be wet. But Sam doesn’t say anything about any of that. 

Instead he pops back up with a big smile. “Hey, I know a really good ice cream place. You wanna join me?”

Steve stares at him. “Why?”

“Because ice cream makes everything better, man. C’mon, my treat.”

Steve  _ is  _ hungry, and he  _ does  _ like ice cream. “Okay,” he says, softly. Sam beams like Steve’s given him a present. 

*

It turns out Sam’s a vet — pararescue — and works down at the VA center in Queens, but lives in Brooklyn. He grew up in Harlem, he explains, but Brooklyn’s closer to his work. Close enough to his parents that his mama doesn’t bother him, but not so close that they’re living on top of each other, he explains with a wink. He asks about Steve, and Steve gives him the cover story SHIELD gave him — ex-Army, now working in Security Consulting. 

Sam asks about his family. Steve shrugs, looking away. “No one left,” he admits and Sam reaches out and rests his hand on Steve’s shoulder, and doesn’t say a word. He asks about Steve’s hobbies, which no one ever does, and Steve finds himself telling him about the books he’s been reading — the  _ Percy Jackson  _ series — and the paintings he’s been working on. He tells him about catching up on all the Disney movies he missed. And Sam smiles and listens. 

Sam doesn’t treat Steve like he’s stupid when he doesn’t know things. He just explains, gently and kindly, in easy words. He’s nice. Sam is nice. 

They start running together in the mornings. Well, sort of together. Mostly they pick a loop and Steve runs it as many times as he needs too. He can’t go as fast as he usually would, but that’s okay. At the end of the run, Sam takes Steve for coffee. He always picks a place with a bathroom, and says something like, “Hey, go on, I’ll get our orders,” when they get there, pointing out where the bathroom is so Steve doesn’t have to figure it out. 

It’s nice to have a friend. 

*

There’s a bad night. He dreams about Bucky falling, but then he’s hanging on to the side of the train and he’s slipping and Stark and Romanoff are standing there and he tries to reach out and they turn around and he falls and falls and falls. 

When he wakes up his diaper’s leaked. He strips it off him and shoves it in the trash and climbs into the shower. If he cries, no one can see. 

He doesn’t change the sheets. He’s tired, he doesn’t want to. He lies on the couch instead, and stares at the wall. He can sort of hear his phone buzzing in the other room. He knows it must be Sam, but he doesn’t get himself up. 

He’s just. 

Really tired. 

He thinks he falls asleep. When he wakes up, his pants are wet, the couch is wet, and someone’s knocking urgently on his door. 

“Steve?” he hears, and there’s a panicked edge to Sam’s voice. “Steve, if you’re in there, you let me in right now.”

Steve shuffles over to the door and then remembers his pants. He stares down at them. He’s wet, he’s cold, and he’s itchy. He wants Bucky. 

He starts to cry. 

The knocking stops. 

“Steve?” Sam’s voice sounds concerned. “Steve, let me in.”

Steve shakes his head, forgetting Sam can’t see him, and then says, “I can’t.”

“Why not, Steve?”

“I - I - I…” Steve stutters out, staring down at his pants. 

He can hear Sam take a deep breath. “Steve, did you have an accident?”

Steve gapes, because how did Sam know? How could Sam guess that? Steve’s been so careful. He hasn’t peed himself even once when he’s been out with Sam. He visits the bathroom every hour and never goes anywhere where there isn’t a toilet. 

“It’s okay,” Sam says. “I won’t be mad. Just let me in, okay?”

And Steve’s tired. He knows he needs to change and shower and clean the couch and change his sheets and he thinks there are dishes from yesterday in the sink and maybe his wet pants from the other day in his laundry bin, and he doesn’t want to take care of himself anymore. He wants Sam to fix it. 

He opens the door. 

Sam comes rushing in and tugs Steve into a big hug. Sam’s a little taller than he is. Not a lot, just an inch or so, like Bucky was. It’s good to feel smaller than someone sometimes. 

Steve collapses against him and starts to cry all over again. He hides his face against Sam’s shoulder so he can’t suck his thumb, cause he does that by accident sometimes, when he’s not paying attention. 

“Shh,” Sam says, and rubs Steve’s back. “It’s okay, Steve. We’re gonna get this figured out, alright? It’s going to be okay.”

Sam holds him until Steve finishes crying. He doesn’t let go. 

Finally Steve pulls back cause he remembers he’s all gross and also his privates are starting to kinda burn. 

“Why don’t you go take a shower,” Sam suggests softly. “I’ll be here when you get out.”

“Promise?” Steve finds himself asking and he winces at how small and needy he sounds. 

But Sam only smiles and nods, saying, “Of course. I’m not going anywhere.”

So Steve goes to shower. When he pulls his pants down he finds red, irritated looking skin and he frowns and shifts uncomfortably. It’s been a while since he got a rash like that. He doesn’t like it, not a bit. It stings in the shower and makes him whine in discomfort, but he tries to clean it best he can. He knows it will heal soon, like everything else, as long as he stays dry. 

After he makes sure he really, really doesn’t smell like pee, he gets out of the shower and wraps up in a towel. When he slips into his bedroom he discovers that Sam has changed the sheets and picked up Steve’s wet pajamas from last night, and also his whole basket of stinky laundry and whisked it away. That makes his cheeks burn. 

Sam must think he’s such a fuck up, not even able to keep the bed or his pants dry, leaving gross, dirty clothes everywhere. Steve’s eyes start to water, but he shakes his head and presses his hand into his eyes. He won’t cry anymore, he won’t. 

Shyly, he peeks out of the bedroom. Sam’s in the living room, picking up a little. He already cleaned the couch. He turns when the door opens and smiles. 

“Hey,” he says softly, “Come sit with me?”

Steve nods and edges over into the living room. They both sit down on the dry side of the couch, leaving them sitting so close Steve can feel the warmth of Sam’s body. He kind of wants to lean into him. But he doesn’t. 

“Steve, I want to talk to you about something, alright?” Sam says. Steve’s whole body goes tense, shoulders creeping up by his ears. “No, nothing bad. Relax, we’re okay.”

Steve tries and only sort of succeeds. 

“I — I get the sense that where you grew up, maybe people didn’t think so highly of Littles, is that right?”

Steve goes tight all over and he shrinks back into the couch. “Maybe,” he whispers. 

“I know it can be hard to move away from ways of thinking that you grew up with, but you know it’s not bad to be Little, right?

Steve shrugs. Anxiety eats at him. Why is Sam saying all this? What is he trying — Steve bites his lip, hard, feeling his eyes start to burn with yet more tears. 

“It’s not,” Sam says more firmly. “Littles are really valuable members of our society. They’re important and special. And those people who get to have them in their lives are very, very lucky.”

Steve shrugs again. He doesn’t know what to say. He knows that the things he used to think and feel aren’t right any more — that Littles are insane or perverts or weak or wrong, somehow. He knows that’s not true anymore, not really. People can be Little and brave, and strong, and important. He knows that. 

Sort of. 

“My friend Riley,” Sam says softly. Sam’s talked about him before, about losing him. “He was Little, and I was his caregiver. D’you understand what that means?”

“That, um, that you took care of him. And helped him, and stuff.”  _ Like Bucky did for you,  _ a small part of Steve’s brain whispers. 

“Yes. His Class — do you know about Classes?”

Frowning, Steve shakes his head. 

“Okay, well. All Littles aren’t the same. D’you — let me start from the beginning. Has anyone ever explained to you what a Little is?”

“No,” Steve whispers. He tucks his knees into his chest and wraps his arms around himself, hugging tight. 

“ A Little is someone who has a certain kind of hormones present in their brain. Those hormones fluctuate, up and down, and they suppress a lot of the sexual hormones that are present in other adults.” Steve blushes a little, at that. “And that changes the way Littles develop, so their bodies are often different. Most Littles don’t grow body hair, for example. And it changes how the brain and some muscles function, especially when the hormones are spiking. It’s a physiological difference, their bodies are different, does that make sense?”

“I guess,” Steve whispers, hiding his face in his knees. He feels Sam hand land on his back, and he jumps a little, but Sam just rubs, really gently. 

“The hormones can also cause emotional differences. Littles may be more prone to tears or angry outbursts. They have a harder time controlling their emotions and dealing with stress. That’s because of the hormones, not because of their brains or minds. Like other hormones these hormones become more present during puberty, so that’s when some of the signs of being Little start to happen. So maybe a thirteen or fourteen year old kid might start crying a lot, or having accidents at night.”

Steve blushes deeply. He remembers when he started to wet, bad. He was fifteen and all of a sudden he was waking up to a wet bed every night, rushing to the bathroom during the day and barely making it. But he can’t be — he can’t. He’s  _ not.  _

“Steve —” Sam’s voice goes slow and hesitant, like he’s not sure he’s going to say the right thing. Steve starts to shake his head, whispering,  _ no, no, no,  _ but Sam doesn’t hear and just keeps going, “Steve, I think you might be Little. That’s not a bad thing. Listen to me, it’s not bad. You’re not bad, it’s just how your body works, buddy.”

That’s what Bucky used to say, which is so surprising that it takes all the wind out of Steve’s sails. 

“I think we should get you tested, bud,” Sam continues. “I think it would make you feel better to know. And...and if you’re Little, I’d very much like to be your caregiver.”

Steve’s head swings up at that, gaping at Sam. “What?” he gasps. 

Sam smiles and rubs his back a little more. “You’re important to me, Steve. I want to help you. I want to be there for you. I think — I think you’re not very happy, most of the time. I want you to be happy.”

For some reason, that makes Steve cry. He doesn’t remember the last time he was happy, but he thinks it was a long time ago. And then Sam’s pulling him into a hug, so close and tight Steve’s practically in his lap and he thinks, if this is what being Little would be like, with Sam right there to take care of him. Well, that wouldn’t be so bad. 

But. 

“I can’t go tested, Sam,” Steve says quietly, pulling back a little and looking up at Sam. Sam frowns a little and pulls out a little packet of tissues from his pocket. Very, very gently he wipes Steve’s face and holds a tissue up for him to blow. 

Steve blushes, but lets him. 

“Why can’t you get tested?” Sam finally asks. 

“I, um, I’m. I’m Captain America?” Steve finally stutters out.

Sam pulls back, eyes going wide and eyebrows going up. For a long minute, he just looks at Steve. 

Then he says, “Yeah, okay, that makes a lot of sense.”

Fidgeting in surprise, Steve asks him, “It does?”

“Sure. The security consultant thing, never totally bought that. And the outdated views on Little’s. There’s still some places in North America where those views are present, but it’s really not common at all. Nowhere at all in New York, really, and with your accent you couldn’t be from anywhere else. And why you can’t work your phone, of course.”

“I can work it!” Steve protests and Sam laughs, letting Steve know he was teasing. 

“But, bud,” Sam says a little more seriously. “Why don’t you live in Avengers Tower? Isn’t that where all the rest live?”

Steve blushes deeply and frowns, folding back into his ball. “I — I said some things ‘bout Littles. I mean, I just asked. I didn’t  _ know _ . And they got mad, I guess, ‘cause some of them are Little and they wouldn’t let me come live with them.”

“ _ What? _ ” Sam hisses. Steve shrugs. “But — you  _ just  _ woke up, how were you supposed to know?”

It had been awful, the way Stark and Romanoff looked at him after. Like he was just cruel and terrible, and it made Steve feel so dumb and small and alone. “I dunno, Sam. I didn’t know.”

“Hmph,” Sam says on a gusty exhale. “I am going to talk to those fools one day. They don’t get to treat you like that.”

Shrugging, Steve says, “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter,” Sam says, voice firm and insistent. “God, Steve. When I met you — you were so lonely. You’re still so lonely. I wondered where your friends were, who had left you all alone — god, I could hit them.” 

Steve shudders a little, not sure what to say in response to any of that. It’s not like he’s ever had very many people, except those last few years with the Howlies and Peggy. Cause — well. There wasn’t really hiding any of his secrets when they were together all the time. And mostly they let Bucky help, but sometimes if Bucky couldn’t they’d remind him or shake him awake at night to go. They looked after him. 

He misses them. 

He knows Peggy’s still alive, but it feels too scary to go see her. Like it will make everything too real. 

“Is there someone you trust who could test you?” Sam says after a couple minutes. “Because I think it’s really important, bud.”

“Um. I dunno. Maybe if someone throws my blood away, after? If we watch them?”

Sam nods seriously. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

*

Which is how, two weeks later, Steve finds himself in Sam’s Doctor’s office. He’s sitting in a chair waiting for the doctor and Sam, who are in the lab looking at Steve’s blood. Sam’s gonna make sure the doctor gets rid of it, afterwards. 

Before this appointment, Steve had to fill out a really embarrassing questionnaire about things like whether he wet the bed or sucked his thumb. Sam had told him to be honest, so Steve tried, but it had been awful, sending it off in the mail the week before his appointment. 

Steve fidgets and takes another sip from his water bottle. Sam got it for him. It’s blue and has a star sticker on it. Steve traces his finger over the sticker. Sam’s been really nice the last couple weeks. Mostly, things have been the same. They go for runs and sometimes for dinner after Sam’s done with work. But after dinner, Sam sometimes comes back to Steve’s apartment and they watch a movie together or something. Sam usually picks up a little too, which makes Steve embarrassed, cause he knows he should be able to keep tidy. 

Steve startles a little when the door opens, revealing Sam and the doctor. They’re smiling. Steve doesn’t know what that means. 

Sam closes the door and comes to sit next to Steve, putting an arm around him. Steve tries not to lean into him. Too much. 

“We’ve got your results done, Steve,” the doctor — Steve can’t remember his name, he was too nervous when Sam said it. “And you are indeed Little.”

“Oh.”

Blood rushes in Steve’s ears. He’s not dumb, once Sam explained he  _ knew _ , but it’s different, being told that he’s got those hormones or whatever. He’s really actually little. And then there’s this huge wave of relief, cause now it makes sense, this is why he has accidents and wets the bed and cries all the time and likes kids movies and sometimes gets so angry he has to kick things. And Sam’s gonna take care of him. Sam said so, and now Steve won’t have to do it by himself anymore. It’s such a relief, he starts to cry. 

“Oh, Steve, no, it’s nothing to be sad about.”

“M’not sad,” Steve sobs. “M’not sad.”

“Oh,” Sam says softly, and then he’s pulling Steve over and then Steve is in Sam’s lap, and that just feels good. He feels small and protected and  _ held.  _ And for a long time, Sam just holds him, and it’s good. It’s so good. 

Finally Steve runs out of tears and he settles down a little, squished up against Sam. The doctor talks some more, telling them that Steve is a class C, which means he’s hardly more than a baby, which makes Steve cry even more, but this time it is because he’s sad — and embarrassed, and scared. He doesn’t know what this means for his life. He doesn’t know if he can keep working at SHIELD or still be Captain America. It feels like everything is going to change. 

*

In some ways, everything  _ does  _ change. Sam moves in with Steve. Steve wanted to move in with Sam, ‘cause Sam’s cramped studio apartment is the best place he’s been this century, but Sam said there wasn’t enough room, and the security wasn’t good enough, so Steve had to concede. 

It turns out that once they move all Sam’s furniture, books, artwork and knick knacks into Steve’s apartment, it’s not such a terrible place to live. They set up the guest bedroom for Sam. 

At first, that’s the biggest change. Sam helps him tidy up the place and do laundry, takes over all the cooking, so Steve doesn’t have to worry about those things anymore, but otherwise a lot of things stay the same. 

Steve goes on missions with his team, staying quiet and out of the way as much as possible, even though he’s officially team leader. He gets the missions done, does his best to keep his secrets, even though that’s always meant wearing protection on missions. The only thing that really changes there is that Steve fills out forms to make Sam his emergency contact and medical proxy. And that when he returns home — often injured, always sad and lonely — it’s not to an empty apartment, but to a hug from Sam, and nights spent leaning into his side as they watch movies. 

For a while, that’s really the extent of it. Steve knows Sam is waiting until he’s ready for more, for when Steve’s ready to be — to be properly little. The thought scares and embarrasses him in equal measure, and so he doesn’t let it happen. He thinks with longing and shame of that day in the doctor’s office, the way Sam held him as he cried, promised to take care of him. 

But he can’t let himself be that needy. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Sam — he does, with everything. But for so long the thought of being little was the secret, dreaded fear that could have ruined his life, or the life of any of his friends. Now — being little. Knowing that about himself. It’s a relief, but Steve doesn’t know how to rethink a lifetime of shame, he just doesn’t. 

So he keeps the littlest things about himself hidden away. He diapers himself at night, carries his change of clothes during the days. Accidents happen, but less when Sam’s around, because Sam always reminds him to go. Steve knows that Sam knows, but Sam doesn’t say anything. Waiting, Steve senses, for Steve to invite help. 

And he can’t bring himself too, for a long time. But March comes ‘round, and with it, Bucky’s birthday, leading to a series of bad nights — nightmares and dreams, and a desperate, heartbroken grief. 

Steve’s diapers often leak on bad nights — the tossing and turning, he thinks, and the nightmares themselves. But when, on the third night in a row, he wakes with his sheets damp and his thighs itchy, he’s just too tired to face it. He turns over, sobbing into his pillow. He needs to get up, he knows. He needs to shower and change the bed. 

But he’s tired. He misses Bucky. 

A hesitant knock comes at the door. “Stevie?” Sam calls, soft and worried. “Are you okay?”

Steve tries to answer, but another wave of sobbing comes out instead. 

“I’m coming in, Steve,” Sam warns, and the door opens, dim light from the hall spilling into his room. Steve curls deeper into the bed, pulling the blankets up to hide himself. He shuts his eyes hard. 

Sam comes around and sits at the edge of the bed, making Steve wince. Sam shouldn’t be sitting on his gross pee-bed. Sam reaches out with one hand and rubs Steve’s arm. Breath hitching, Steve tries not to cry more. It doesn’t really work. 

“Did you have a nightmare, Stevie?” Sam asks. 

“Uhuh,” Steve whispers after a moment. 

“I’m sorry,” Sam soothes, “Nightmares are no fun. You know what always helps me after a nightmare?”

Steve peeks his eyes open to glance at Sam. Sam’s looking at him, and smiles gently when he sees Steve looking. “What?” Steve asks. 

“A good cuddle and some hot chocolate.”

That sounds amazing, Steve thinks, but he can’t. He needs to shower and change the sheets. Again. 

“Can’t,” he mumbles. 

“Why not?”

Steve shifts uncomfortably under the blanket and hides his red cheeks in his pillow. 

“Ah,” Sam sighs softly. “Did you wet the bed?”

Steve blushes even brighter, cheeks burning. Tears start to slip out from under his eyelids, and a little whine escapes him without his permission. 

“It’s okay,” Sam soothes. “Accidents happen, especially to Littles. Let’s get you cleaned up, alright?” Sam stands, and starts tugging Steve’s blankets back. Cheeks hot, Steve slowly sits up and squirms out from the blankets, standing in front of Sam shyly. 

Sam glances at him, and a little frown crosses his face. 

“Steve, are you wearing um —”

Steve feels like his face is going to explode it’s so hot. He ducks his head, and drops his hands to cover his crotch. Usually the diaper’s very thin and no one’s ever noticed it, but right now it’s swollen and saggy. “I need them,” he whispers apologetically. “At night. I — I can’t help it. Before, Bucky’d wake me up, but.”

“It’s okay, Stevie,” Sam reassures, and he steps closer, putting a kind hand on Steve’s shoulder and rubbing a little. “Most littles in your class need protection, even when they’re big.”

Steve shrugs. 

Sam’s other hand comes up and cups Steve’s cheek, bringing it up so that Steve’s looking at Sam. 

“Steve, I’m sorry. I messed this up. I didn’t want to push you, so I just let things lie, but I think that was a mistake. You’ve got no real idea of what it means to be a class C little and me waiting for some day when you’re magically ready for it…” Sam shakes his head. “That’s not right. I’m supposed to be your caregiver, and that means helping you figure this out. Will you let me do that?”

Steve bites his lip. He’s scared, he doesn’t know what it will mean to let himself be little, to accept that things are different now, or maybe that he was  _ always  _ different. He likes having Sam help him with things, it makes everything so much easier, but he’s scared of losing control. He’s scared of what Sam might want him to do, to be little. 

But he’s  _ tired _ , he’s so tired. He’s tired from nightmares and waking up wet, and having to make decisions all the time, and from hiding from his teammates and pretending everything’s fine, and as much as it scares him, he  _ wants  _ it so bad. He wants to just hand it over to Sam and let Sam make the decisions and show him what to do. 

“I think you’ll feel much happier,” Sam says softly. “Once you can be Little, like you’re supposed to.”

“Okay,” Steve whispers. “Okay.”

Sam smiles and leans in, kissing Steve’s forehead. Steve shivers with the strangeness of it. No one’s done that since his mam…

“Let’s go into the bathroom. I’ll run you a bath.”

Steve’s not taken a bath since the serum, but it sounds nice. The water in this apartment is always hot, so it won’t be like the baths he and Bucky used to have, with water boiled in the kettle to fill the tub, shared between the two of them. 

Still sniffling slightly, and wiping the rest of his tears away, Steve follows Sam into the bathroom. It’s the middle of the night, and the apartment has that soft fuzzy quality of the very late night and very early morning, and Steve watches with cloudy eyes as Sam fills the tub with steaming water. Once the water is filling, Sam stands and turns to him. 

“Can I help you get undressed, kiddo?”

_ Kiddo.  _ The word shivers through him. It makes him feel small, but mostly it makes him feel cared for. Sam’s there and he wants to take care of him, and he doesn’t care that Steve’s little. Or that he’s wet and gross. 

“Okay,” Steve agrees in a tiny voice. 

Sam smiles at him, says, “Good boy.” Steve feels even smaller at the words, but not in a bad way. Not in a bad way at all. “Lift your arms up, please.”

Steve does, and Sam sweeps his shirt away, chucking it into the laundry bin. He reaches out to pull down Steve’s pants, and Steve automatically puts a hand out to stop him. 

Sam looks at him and carefully says, “It’s okay, bud. Little boys sometimes need help with their clothes.”

“Don’t want you to see,” Steve admits on a half-sob. 

“It’s a caregiver’s job to help with wet diapers,” Sam says matter-of-factly. Steve blushes hard. “Little boys can’t always stay dry, that’s why it’s important for them to have a —” here Sam pauses, like he wants to say something, but isn’t sure how. Finally, he finishes, “To have a grown-up to take care of them.”

Steve lets his hands drop away from Sam’s, and Sam pulls down Steve’s wet, itchy pajama pants. He doesn’t act like it’s gross, though. He doesn’t even act like it’s gross when he puts his hands on Steve’s diaper. Only Bucky and his mam have ever touched something like that, and that was when he was still a teenager. It was different. 

But Sam just pulls at the tapes like it’s no big deal and balls the soaked diaper up before putting it in the trash. 

“Alright, kiddo, let’s get you in the tub.” 

Sam holds his hands while he steps into the tub, like Steve’s really a little boy, who might slip and fall. And it’s strange, but Steve feels a bit like he  _ might  _ fall, like his body is wobbly and his muscles not all working together the way they should. He feels so  _ small _ and  _ young _ .  _ Little,  _ he realizes, he’s feeling  _ little.  _

He starts to cry as he sits down. 

“Oh, hon,” Sam says softly. “What’s a matter?”

“Scary!” is the only word that Steve can manage. 

Sam gently pets his hair out of his eyes, and says, “It can be scary. But it’s okay, I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

Steve sniffles and nods, keeping his head tucked down. It doesn’t get less scary, sitting there in the tub and letting Sam wash him, but it feels good. It’s like having Bucky and his mam back, taking care of him after a bad night. Sam doesn’t get mad or make any faces, and he always tells Steve before he touches him anywhere. 

Afterwards, he bundles Steve up in a towel and dries his hair with another, before guiding him into the bathroom. He sits Steve down on the trunk at the end of his bed, and sets about stripping the sheets and blankets off the bed, wiping down the waterproof sheet, and then remaking the whole bed in record time. Steve watches with sleepy eyes, knowing he should help, but too tired and too small to even think about how. 

“Okay, kiddo, let’s get you dressed,” Sam says, pulling out a new pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt from Steve’s dresser. “Where do you keep your diapers?”

Steve blushes but stands up, gesturing down at the trunk. Sam kneels to open it. The half-empty pack is sitting on top. 

“This is a pretty cheap brand, no wonder it leaked on you,” Sam mutters thoughtfully. 

“Leaks lots,” Steve admits as Sam stands up, diaper in hand. 

“Well, we’ll get you something better.” Sam hesitates a moment, and then asks, “Steve, what do you do during missions?”

Steve blushes and tucks his nose into his towel, hiding. “I gotta wear them the whole time,” he admits. “Cause if it’s the middle of the mission I can’t just stop to go bathroom.”

“And no one’s found out?” Sam asks with lifted eyebrows.

Steve shakes his head firmly. “No. They  _ can’t _ .”

Humming thoughtfully, Sam nods to himself, then changes the subject. “Okay, Stevie, how do you want to do this? Can I help?”

Steve blushes at that idea. But. 

He remembers being eighteen. His mam dead, his whole world falling apart, sick with the beginning of pneumonia. He remembers lying out on the double bed that used to be his ma’s, and Bucky folding the cloth diapers around him and pinning them for him, helping him step into the rubber pants that went over. Steve hated them. He hated needing them, he hated needing help with the pins, but — 

But Bucky never acted like it was a big deal. He just did it. He just helped. He treated Steve and —  _ that  _ like it was totally normal. 

“Okay,” Steve whispers. He clumsily crawls on to the bed, still trying to hold on to his towel, and lies down on his back. When he looks back at Sam, he looks a little surprised, but he’s smiling. He looks  _ happy _ . 

“Brave boy,” Sam praises. Steve blushes and covers his face. That works out, because then he doesn’t have to look while Sam unwraps his towel. The man gives him gentle prompts to lift his hips, and then he slides the diaper underneath him. The disposable diapers are so much better than what he used to have. More comfortable, more convenient, and much more discreet. But it’s weird, having someone help him again, and Steve’s not sure what to think about it, so he just tries not to think, he just follows Sam’s directions and once he’s all dressed, Sam tucks him under his blankets. He kisses his forehead. He sings him a soft song that Steve’s never heard before. Steve’s smiling as he falls asleep, and there are no more nightmares that night. 

*

After that, things  _ do  _ change. The very next day, Sam takes him to a special store for Littles. Steve is mortified to go there, sure that it will somehow make its way into the press or to his friend’s attention. Sam has him wear a sweater with a hood and some of Sam’s clothes that are just a little too big and promises it will be okay. It’s easier, Steve finds, just to listen to Sam, to just let Sam — let Sam be the grown-up and make the decisions and take care of him. 

They get lots of new things at the store. New diapers for nighttime that Sam promises won’t leak — they get two kinds, one printed with cartoon animals and one plain, even though Steve protests the animals. Sam quietly, but firmly, talks him into getting something to wear during the day too. 

Steve hates that idea, because he’s not a baby, he doesn’t need — he doesn’t always have accidents during the day, he  _ doesn’t _ . Sam just looks at him, long and hard, and finally Steve’s head droops and he relents. They get three different things for the day — plain white pull-ups, pull-ups printed with designs, and something marked ‘for athletic wear’ that Sam says will be good for missions. 

But Sam also insists on buying Steve new, ‘comfortable’ clothes, including t-shirts with colorful prints and characters Steve doesn’t know —  _ yet,  _ Sam promises. And there are  _ toys.  _ Those are somehow more baffling than all the rest, and Steve doesn’t know what to pick, but he finds that he’s strangely excited to play with everything that Sam does pick for him, even though he thinks a lot of them are really for babies. 

Anytime Steve starts feeling overwhelmed or worried — that giving in to being little is  _ bad _ , that he’s asking for too much from Sam, that he shouldn’t need any of this — Sam seems to notice. He gives him a little squeeze on the shoulder, or rubs his back, and once, even kisses his forehead. 

Steve guesses that he could get used to this, really, as he glances shyly up at Sam as his friend buckles him into the car. It’s really not so bad, having someone to take care of him again. 


End file.
